


Space Nurse

by TariTheNurse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Men in Black (Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Anatomy, Anxiety, Avengers - Freeform, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Fondling, Hospitals, Illness, International, Language, Martial Arts, Medical Procedures, Military, Multi, Nurse - Freeform, SHIELD, Sci-Fi, Secret Organizations, Stress, Threats, Wounds, fictional anatomy, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: “You’re a nurse who’s just gotten a new job at a local hospital, but due to a clerical error, you are accidentally sent to a top-secret hospital that treats extraterrestrials visiting Earth.”I know this is very vague at the moment, but it'll make sense eventually. This is going to look like a diary for the first few chapters, so 1st pers PoV, but think of it as reader insert.I'll be ending this with chapter 11 - much sooner than anticipated, but I guess this one is exceptionally far from what people care about, so yeah. Thanks to those who have read <3





	1. First Entry

~~Dear diary~~

~~Logbook~~

28.09.2018

I’ve taken the job despite the secrecy and the many MANY things they still won’t tell me. That’s why I’m writing this down. There’s no one I can talk to about any of this because pretty much everything is confidential and half of the report of the potential work-place was blacked out, but damn me if I’m not curious!

Maybe I should clarify something for future me’s sake: I’m not unhappy with my current life. My (soon to be old) job at the pulmonary unit is nice, I like my apartment and both family and friends are the best. It’s just…I need something new. Everyone my age are getting married and spawning kids (something I’m being told to do as well, but hell no) and meanwhile I’m here, doing the same old without getting anywhere. I’m 32! I should’ve already done something exciting at least a few times in my life.

So, this will be it!

I’m sitting in the room with a huge suitcase filled with stuff supposed to last me through the next three months at some “facility” goodness knows where. I’ve had to pack a bit of everything clothing-wise, not to mention an armful of books from my reading list.  
Soon, someone will come and pick me up to bring me to where ever the facility is. I think it might be in the US? At least one of the people I spoke with sounded very American, but of course that’s a broad definition.

The first month, I won’t be allowed to contact anyone on the outside. They say they’ll confiscate my phone during that time which probably should make me scared, because really…I don’t know a lo about the organization or the facility. Could this be some elaborate scheme to lure dimwitted people off to a hell on earth? Maaayybe. A part of me keeps telling me that at least. But it seems too…hmm…well-organized? The credentials from several ministries and governments would have been hard to fake. I hope.

….

Addition:

Had to stop writing because a van with a crew of four very serious-looking people arrived to bring me and my luggage away. Three guys and a girl, the only one who ~~didn’t~~ doesn’t seem military and intensely muscular is one of the guys, his qualifications are apparently clerical.

Anyways!

They brought me to an airstrip a couple of (very silent) hours by car away. I’m still not sure if it was military or private, because we drove all the way onto the tarmac, and I couldn’t see anything except some grey sky and rain-wet grass as they ushered me on board. If I’m off to be imprisoned and experimented on, at least I’m being treated to a first-class flight: plush leather seats as wide as half my couch, delicious food and drinks. Even the professional muscle-people are relaxing a bit in the corner of the back of the jet, playing cards and teasing each other like friends would do. Going completely on prejudice, I’d think the girl is Hispanic and at least one of the guys might be German? But honestly, I don’t have a clue.

They don’t talk to me. No one does.

Mister Paper-clip has gone as far as to introduce himself as John. John Smith. Do I believe him? No! Now he’s just frowning at his laptop and tapping away. Sometimes he glances over at me before shuffling through my documents as if he’s looking for something he might have missed. Nooot at all nerve-wrecking.

Speaking of laptop. As soon as the jet was in the air, they confiscated any electronics I had. I kinda saw that coming, but it still sucks not to have my music. Still…before that’ll be an issue, I have to make it to the destination, and I don’t know how long that’ll be. I think we’re flying west-ish over the Atlantic at the moment…in fact, it’s probably best to see what I can learn about this trip.


	2. Second entry

29.09.2018

The flight was really long and was, actually, two flights because we landed briefly for refueling. I wasn’t allowed to get off the plane though. On the other hand, what I could see from the little windows wasn’t that interesting as such: flat grasslands as far as the eye could see on one side, tarmac and the odd building (hangars and barracks maybe) on the other.

I’m afraid to say, that I fell asleep on the next leg of the journey. I woke up as we landed, and so I was still kinda groggy when I got ushered into another enormous car. Humvee, one of my military guards corrected me when I commented on it. We spend hours driving through the night. Too dark too see anything, I can only judge from the engine noise, the twists and turns, and what little was illuminated by the headlights of the vehicle.

Whatever I recount now…it might not be completely coherent. I’m tired and I’ve been ping-ponged between interrogation rooms and medical exams, each at the ends of winding hallways, not to mention the myriad of people I’ve had to deal with. Still…the part that made it feel like everything was taken from a James Bond-movie was when we arrived at the facility by driving straight into what looked like sheer cliff! Obviously, we didn’t. It shimmered blue around us, and then we were driving along a tunnel.

Now I’m sitting in a small, but comfortable, room styled with futuristic, white furniture and dusty-blue walls…not bad, actually. It’s going to be my home the first three months, and then, if I pass the trial-period. I’ve got my luggage (minus electronics) as well as a thick stack of documents. Debriefings on the facility’s purpose, medical journals on personnel, and several binders that I haven’t even opened yet. All of that is supposed to be my homework for the next days, which means I probably should get started right away.


	3. Third entry

1.10.2018

Holy flamingo! I’m completely wasted both physically and mentally. The three friendly comrades from my trip (who, by the way, are called Costa, Hoffmann, and Taylor) have been put in charge of a harsh physical training regimen. I knew my physical shape wasn’t amazing, to say the least….but it seems to have been in the negatives! Every part of me is aching all the time, and I haven’t even begun the combat training they keep mentioning! Never once do they compliment the effort I put forth! They just make fun of me, ridiculing how weak I am compared to them. They have trained for years with elite soldiers, shaping their bodies with muscles that are both created for intense strength and endurance.

Costa has a sharp-witted sense of humour, often dancing verbally around her two friends. Short, chestnut hair and deep-brown eyes in a heart-shaped face with tan skin.

Hoffmann’s…well, I don’t know much about him yet, as he doesn’t seem to trust people easily. It doesn’t seem like he holds back once he considers someone a friend, at least, becoming chatty…even boisterous. He’s tall, muscular, plenty of scars littered across the parts of his body I’ve seen so far, which is more than I had expected because that man doesn’t have any sense of prudence and he began undressing after a round of sparring with someone else. Right there! In the gym!

Then there’s Taylor. Sounds American, has blues eyes, and for the rest looks like he got drafted in Mumbai. A black shock of hair which must be a hell to contain the way protocols dictate. He’s dwarfed by Hoffmann what with his own lithe build and wiry muscles. Some of the training he does attracts quite a few onlookers with its elegance. Mainly, I’m too busy sweating under Costa’s or his orders to notice much.

The three are my private tormenters. Pushing me, ridiculing me, ignoring my background differs from theirs, and it pisses me off to know end, but there’s no time to think about it when training’s over, because there’s been endless briefings on safety protocols and whatnot.

I’ve also started reading through all the files. Most of it is extensive medical information on the people working here and the standard tests for their monthly (!!) physicals. The interesting stuff, however, is in the thick binders where there are pages upon pages of isolated anatomic features of a variety of animals. I think. Some of the data doesn’t quite add up, but I’m a nurse…not a zoologist. I tried to ask why I needed to read this but got no answer.

I never do, no matter who I ask.

John Smith’s is around for all the interviews and briefings, constantly frowning at his laptop. He’s always there with his slicked-back, black hair and the glasses with thin, silvery frames partially disguising the grey eyes. In a way, he might be handsome in a sleek manner. But I get the feeling that he’s not particularly happy with me, but of course there’s no explanation from him. So, I’m stuck with speculations and training as if I’m supposed to be some impressive soldier rather than a nurse. This isn’t what I’d expected when they offered me the job with a warning that I’d need some special training.

….

Addition:

One of the doctors I’ve seen at my first physical came by to chat and show me a round a bit more. She seems nice. Immediately asked me to use her first name, Helen.

She showed me backstage of the infirmary, as she calls it, and woah! Everything here’s insanely high-tech, beyond my wildest imagination. Honestly, not even Star Trek has gotten close to this level of medical technological ingenuity. Some of the machines are developments of stuff I know, but a lot is completely new to me. Helen promises that it’ll make sense soon enough.

Also: I’ve now got a locker in the changing room plus access to uniforms etcetera, everything needed for a shift on my new job.

That’ll be tomorrow.


	4. Fourth entry

2.10.2018

I don’t know where to start. Chronologically might be my best option, there’s just sooooo much crammed into my brain and almost all of it conflicts with what I thought I knew about the world.

Right…from the top…

Got up at 6AM. Showered, dressed, breakfast in mess hall (only went the wrong way twice, trying to find it). Helen came over while I was sitting there alone with my tray, trying to hide next to a fern of sorts, and she told me she would be leaving, so someone else would see to it that I got settled. That someone was a guy, smoothly dressed in a black suit and shoes polished to the point of being functional as mirrors. Name: Jay. Only that. Well, an “agent” first, but I’m confident that’s his working title.

Then again…with what I’ve seen today I might be mistaken.

Anyways. Agent Jay let me finish brekkie while making small talk. Then came the bombshell: he claimed to be a so--called “Men in Black”. Ignoring the grammar in relevance to his personal reference, I’ve never heard anything as unprofessionally sounding as that! Apparently, it’s a covert organisation with branches all over the world, dealing with aliens and their activities on earth. Yeah, I laughed at him. Obviously, he must be one of the patients at the facility, I thought, although it was strange that they’d have him wandering around like that. So, to humour him, I went along to “see” some of the temporary residents in the ETI – Extra-Terrestrial Infirmary.

Suffice to say…I’ve never been more mistaken in my life.

There they were. I don’t remember the names of the yet, and to be fair there were only a handful, but due to the risk of contamination, they’re all in isolation…and one of them needs to be constantly submerged in some sort of gelatinous substance that smells of asparagus.

All except one are new on earth and were picked out in customs (srsly, there’s like an airport for aliens coming and going, according to Jay), due to sign of illness. The “old timer” has been in Australia for a while before getting injured. The details aren’t clear, but it might involve a zoo and mating ritual gone wrong? I intend to find out. The aliens are my future patients, but only if I get through the first three months of “normal” nursing.

Should I be scared? Offended by the blatant lie of the collective governing parties on earth? I’m a huge fan of letting smarter people make the tricky decisions, having seen all too often how badly humans handle simple facts…even when there are direct consequences to their own well being, but this? Now it makes sense why they confiscated phone and laptop.

What am I gonna do? On one hand, this is so profound that everyone ought to know that we really aren’t alone…on the other hand that’s a sure-fire way to panic and violence. For fuck’s sake! We can’t even keep peace ON earth! How should it be possible with a whole universe full of different creatures and societies to freak out the fearful populations on earth? Either way…there’s not much I can do at the moment without means of contacting the outside. Who’d believe me anyways? If I talk, I’ll end up at the closed psych ward.

And honestly…I don’t want to leave now when there’s so much to learn! Yes. That’s the logical choice: stay, learn, absorb everything I can for later use. Make myself indispensable.


	5. From Nightingale to Sci-Fi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changing away from first pers PoV in the form of diary. Instead it'll be classical reader insert second pers PoV. At least for a while :)

You’re unable to finish the breakfast due to the nauseating anticipation of what’s to come. Good thing you’ll be tending humans the first while, at least their physiology isn’t new to you. _Nooo, only all the things they can suffer from in their line of work!_ You’re far from rested after having spent the entire night studying alien parasites and whatnot. It explains the frequent physicals they need to go through.

Abandoning your futile attempts at finishing the yoghurt with muesli, you stash the tray in the rack and turn around to head off only to nearly slam into the solid shape dressed in a black suit with matching tie which seems to soften and lighten his skin. Looking up into the smiling face of agent Jay, you gravity that tries to pull you stumbling backwards, minimizing the movement to a soft sway.

“Easy there, newbie,” Jay grins as he slips an arm around your waist to steady you, “didn’t mean to scare ya’.”

Slinking out of his steady hold (and tearing your gaze away from his endless eyes), it’s easy enough to deny his claim and if he doesn’t believe you…well at least he doesn’t say it.

“Spend most mornings trying to sneak up on… _newbies_?” The words from testily over your lips.

When Jay smirks it makes his feathery moustache tremble. “Nah, only the one’s I’ve been told to assess.”

The two of you’ve started walking and you vaguely recognize the path that leads to the locker room. He’s a relatively tall man, at least compared to yourself and you’re not exactly the tiniest person. Even so, there’s nothing unsettling about walking next to him because nothing about his person carries the air of the other cold and anonymous agents you’ve encountered so far.

“There’ll be one from either bureau evaluatin’ ya work and skills every day. I’ve been tasked to represent Men in Black. Doctor Cho was supposed to be the delegation from Shield and –“

“Wait.” Pausing briefly to look at the friendly face to make sure you didn’t mishear. “There’re two fractions at play?”

By the time Jay finishes explaining about Strategic Homeland-something-or-other and Men in Black, your mind’s fuzzy with semi-political history. Your new acquaintance isn’t clear on who knew about the extra-terrestrials first, but it’s apparent that MiB have specialized on the field and it was a director of SHIELD, a guy called Fury, that arranged for a meeting to build a cooperation. One day, rumour goes, he was sitting in the office of “Alpha”, the chief of Jay’s organisation.

“So…I’m not actually part of neither Men in Black or SHIELD?” Pulling out a set of scrubs from an automated dispenser, you continue into the locker room.

Maybe he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care, because he follows dutifully. “Nah, durin’ the trial period y’are in neutral territory. Once assessed, _we_ decide which agency ya’ll fit with, ya know…skills, temper, shit like tha’.”

“Don’t I have a say in it?” you ask, brows raised although he can’t see it because you’ve got the back to him and your head halfway into your locker.

Kicking off shoes, there’s no sign the man will leave, and you decide to change while he keeps talking.

“Ya want a say in – oh okay, we’re doin’ _that_!” You hear him shuffle about and a glance verifies that he’s turned away. “It’s not that I _mind_ , ya see. Nothin’ wrong with…with…ahm…” The shadows of flailing hands doesn’t provide him with the needed vocabulary. “Aaaanyways! So…erm…well if ya got any preferences, we’ll be happy to hear ‘em.”

The scrubs from the hospital back home used to be white, maybe with navy leggings depending on the model, so it looks odd to you with the pastel yellow. _I’m like an Easter chicken!_ Baggy pants and unshapely t-shirt, at least both have huge pockets for pens, notebooks with charts and vitals, and much more that you’ve come to learn is handy to have nearby during a shift. Pushing the locker-door shut with a dull clang, you straighten up and breathes in deeply in the hope that it’ll steady the nerves once and for all.

“Let’s do this.”

…

With doctor Helen Cho gone one of the people responsible for your introduction (though apparently only for a little while) is a young SHIELD-scientist although her expertise lies in biochemistry, making her less of an obvious choice to work in the infirmary in much the same way Helen’s focus on genetics does. But doctor Simmons in kind and brilliant, and she willingly explains that most of the doctors at this facility aren’t “ordinary” doctors due to the special needs any disease or injury related to extra-terrestrials require. As such, it’s up to you and the handful of other nurses to cover the gap between the professions.

 _No pressure._ Sure, you’ve done your fair share of stiches and cleaning wounds...but you’re no surgeon, of course, and as your mind lists all the manners your expertise can be insufficient you feel your heart fall. Even though you’d been surprised to be offered this job (and since then shocked to find out what it entails), you don’t want to be deemed unworthy. _Damnit,_ you bicker at yourself, _if I gotta leave it’ll be me walking out as a protest._

…

You don’t leave that day. Instead, the time is spend doing regular checkups and collecting blood and urine samples from the many (human) employees that have been called in in advance. Some of the equipment might be fancier than at your old job, but the procedures are perfectly familiar, putting you at each and freeing your mind to make small talk with the military personnel which apparently are being checked these days.

A few of the faces are recognizable from the hallways or the cafeteria, there’s even a set of twins (whom you’ve assumed was actually just one very busy guy) that recognizes you from the gym. Red hair and brown eyes equally aflame with joy barely able to mask a glimmer of mischief when they each in turn offer you to join them for training or company at meal time. After seeing the second out, you take the liberty of noting down their names just in case you take them up on their offer.

And so, the day passes surprisingly quickly with you in one room together with the “patients” and agent Jay and doctor Simmons, the two people who has a power over your future, in the lab except when they decide to check up on you or stop by to give you a message. No one joins you for lunch, and by the time the day ends, you’re thankful that neither of the two leaves with you even if it means walking the halls alone.

…

You’ve had an hours rest before needing to be ready for the daily torture at the hands of the trio in charge of your training. Dragging your sorry ass and buzzing mind to the gym, getting insulted and yelled at is the last thing you feel like because even if the day technically speaking has been simple, getting used to a new work place is taking its toll mentally.

Dropping the little towel and water bottle in the treadmill’s holders, you know the first part of the training session you’ll be left mostly alone as long as you don’t run too slow. A few beeps with the buttons starts the preprogrammed, torturous, cardio workout.

15 minutes in, and your lungs are burning as though someone’s filled them with acid, forcing your body to work on anaerobic metabolism and sheer stubbornness. _Breathe in while left-right-left, breathe out while right-left-right._ On and on, the mantra drones while the empty gaze stays fixed on the barren wall at the other side of the room. _Just a…bit more._ You know you’re lying to yourself, but it’s easier to handle one more minute at a time than all 15 at once.

By the time the machine slows to a halt, some unknown deity must have taken pity on you to prevent your legs from giving out under you. Wiping the sweat away with the little towel (and stifling a groan of discouragement), the only goal is to drag out the time before one of the three buddies turns their attention to you.

“Hey, [Y/N]. Right?”

The cheery voice right behind you makes you snap around so fast you nearly trip yourself, and four hands shoot out to steady you. _What was their names again?_

“Woops,” the other twin smiles (or maybe it’s the same that spoke before), “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Heh. Nono, you didn’t,” you lie with a half-hearted smile, “I was just erm…mentally far away.”

The one you think might be Sean looks solemnly around the boring gym. The place is styled á la minimalist institution with once-white concrete walls and linoleum in some uncanny greenish hue that looks more like mold than anything you ought to have indoors.

“Next time…please bring me along.” The sigh would seem honest if it wasn’t for the twinkle in the brown eyes.

“Oï!” Of course, his brother (possibly named Ian, depending on who’s who) isn’t about to miss out on anything as he elbows his way closer, sending maybe-Sean slightly off balance. “Anything particular in mind? Otherwise I’ll show you the good places around here, just say the word!”

Their enthusiasm and smiles are contagious, rekindling a happiness that has otherwise been dampened since you left home. You’re just about to answer, accepting the offer in the need of having some sort of friends in this foreign place, when Costa sidles over with a brow arched in disapproval. Clad in shorts and a sports bra, showing almost all of her toned body, you’re reminded of the inferior status thrust upon you – and for obvious reasons when it comes to physical prowess. _If it was only that, at least._ But no. Of course, this warrior-lady somehow manages to look gorgeous and be smart too, and a pang of mixed emotions in your chest prompts you to look away.

“What’ve we got here?” The slightly nasal Caribbean dialect is honeyed. Too honeyed. “The havoc-twins are trying to sabotage my recruit?”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am.” Both guys’ drain in the split second it takes before they answer in unison.

Smoldering eyes turn frosty, freezing the guys and you to the spot. “Good. I won’t tolerate anything but perfection, and if you mess with my work, I’ll make you regret it. We clear?!”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” You bite your tongue not to answer with Sean and Ian.

“You can have her when I’m done.” Costa’s words sends a new wave of heat to your cheeks for no reason you should be thinking of. “Now move.”

Watching the twins scurry off, you wait silently for the punishing rant that must be brewing for you.

Nothing.

No harsh words or degrading comments slip Costa’s lips while she instructs you on the use of some equipment meant to exercise arms and chest. Oh no, her punishment is way more refined, much crueler. From one machine to the next, she pushes you beyond the limits you thought you had in a gruelling manner where raw strength and endurance are brought to the test until you literally pass out, losing your grip on an elastic cord as you slump unto the floor. Weather it’s the sharp whip against your face from the equipment or the impact with the linoleum that wakes you, well that’s impossible to tell. Either way, it’s the burning humiliation that hurts the most as you try to focus on the face of your tormentor.


	6. Stubborn

Every day, you wake up and get to the infirmary, body still sore from Costa’s treatments which you suffer through each evening. Twice, now, you’ve passed out from exhaustion in the gym. Once you’ve puked up the electrolyte-water you’d been drinking. And for what? No kind words of encouragement during these first weeks.

As exited as you had been about the job with its tantalizing mysteriousness just as much do you abhor what’s to come as the end of your shift nears, and you do your best to drag out the time together with doctor Simmons.

She’s a kind, young lady with an extremely bright mind. Sometimes, she forgets that the two of you don’t have the same expertise, but it’s generally when she gets excited about something within her field of specialty. Whenever that happens there are two ways to handle it, it seems. The simplest is to let her rant on about it, more or less to herself while you make small approving noises. _Nod and smile._ The smarter way, and the one you prefer to be honest, is to interrupt her and ask for the English version too. It sure teaches you a lot of interesting things.

“Why’re you even around still?” Poking her head up from behind a row of beakers near the spectrometer, Jemma (she insists you call her that) studies you with the keen eyes.

You decide to refocus on the pc-screen where you’re reading up on the appointments for on the Monday (having been given the weekend off duty). “Oh, I just wanted to prepare for tomorrow, y’know?”

“From what I’ve seen,” the doctor says, clear and slow, “you’ve _already_ prepared. _And_ you’re perfectly capable of handling anything unforeseen…so what’s going on?”

The smallest movement, like the shrug you give her now, is a painful reminder of what you’re up against. If your friends or maybe the right family members had been within reach then you’d have called them already to vent your frustrations, get a pat on the back. Some support! But you aren’t close to anyone yet, save for Jemma…and until now that has purely been a professional relationship. _It still is._ In the end, she’s going to have a lot to say before the power that be decides if you’re going to stay or get send back home. _No, I can’t tell her._ Having a shoulder to cry on would be great, but there’s no way you’ll “let them win”.

“Nothing much, I guess. Still getting used to everything, of course, but that’s to be expected.” Forcing a smile that fits the airy voice, you hope it’s enough to get her off your back.

Instead, she comes over to your desk to pat you gently on your shoulder. “I guess I have the benefit of being used to this kind of life already.” The near-motherly kindness is oozing from her. “I knew what I wanted before I got accepted to the academy, so now it’s only a minor inconvenience when I have to be here.”

“Where’re you normally?” _Anything to move the focus to another subject._

“I can’t tell you yet…classified…you get it.” The woman has the decency to look apologetic, if only for a second before reenergizing mentally. “Well! You better be off and get some quiet time.”

She basically ushers you out of the door.

…

Stomach tense and fists clenched, you tell yourself not to be an idiot as you enter the gym later that evening. Costa and her buddies are already busy just like a bunch of other agents and military people of various sort. You still haven’t found the system in ranks and titles, but maybe you’ll be taught who are what if you get to stay. Ian and Sean, the twins, have kept a safe distance since threatened by your personal trainer from hell, and you kind of miss the guys even if you’ve never gotten to know them. It stings to see them wink at you from the other side of the room, but not dare to wave or anything.

 _Fucking Costa._ The spite’s like fuel. _Fucking secrecy._ The treadmill whirrs beneath your feet as anger and frustration carries you in a steady pace. _Fucking isolation. Them and their self-conceived superiority!_ Timing your breathing automatically and ignoring the sweat running down your face and body, the stubbornness grows while your mind points out all the ways the system and individual people at this damn facility have contingency plans based on you and other rookies washing out. They _expect_ newbies to fail. _Not this time!_

When the machinery comes to a halt, you’re itchy with a restless jittery feeling that drives you to march up to Costa and look her straight in the eyes, demanding her attention. Looking you over, the shorter woman doesn’t say anything to you, just nods at Taylor.

“C’mon.” Short of word, the man waves for you to follow him to the mats in one of the corners.

This is new. Apprehension rises cold in your stomach, seeping into your limbs as you watch him gather various pads and a roll of sports tape which he begins to wind around your hands and wrists with surprisingly gentle hands. Dark, brown eyes with a few greenish flecks are glued onto the work, giving you ample time to study him. Oh yeah, he’s muscular and well-trained…just not in the same bulky way that for instance Hoffmann flaunts. Whatever Asian origin the American before you hails from, it’s given him the best of the best for dexterity, agility and stamina. _And he’s about to use it all to kick my ass?_

 Grabbing both your hands, he studies the result. “How’s that?”

“Errr…” You know nothing about these things, so you tryingly flex your fingers. “Okay…I think.”

The nod is curt. “Good. Costa wants me to test you first, but that’s not how I do things.” _That sounds…promising._ “So, we’ll start with basic blocks and attacks.”

And so it begins, like learning a dance by familiarizing yourself with the individual steps before you get to put it all together. Contrary to his friend, _the she-devil_ , he compliments when you’ve done something right, making it easier to bear all the times you don’t. There’s plenty of room for improvement. How could there not? But your instincts are right when they tell you to step into any jab or punch, putting your body behind the entire movement. It’s hard work, and still it doesn’t feel that bad.

“That’s it for today.” A tiny smile wrinkles the corner of Taylor’s mouth. “You’re off tomorrow, and I suggest you use it to recover. Be here Sunday at seven AM instead.”

“Yes, sir!” The answer pops out on its own, making both of you freeze in awkward silence for a few seconds. “I m-mean yes, of-of course.”

The twins are waiting for you when you exit the gym, both still in dirty training gear, but grinning from ear to ear at the sight of you and going as far as to jovially wrap you in the middle of a ginger-sandwich despite your own sweaty state of being.

“Not bad, sprout!” The one to your left beams. “Heard all the praise Taylor gave you. Not bad at all!”

 _Sprout?_ Maybe not a flattering nickname, but at least it’s cuter than “newbie” or “disaster” which have been the frequently used ones. It almost sounds friendly. Both Ian and Sean keep the compliments flowing as the three of you follow the utility path from the commons to the habitat area. Their quarters are in a different part than yours, of course, meaning that eventually you come to a crossroads where your paths diverge, and the laughter and warm friendliness has to end.

“Hey, [Y/N],” possibly-Ian says hopefully, “a bunch of us are heading into town for a drink or two. Care to join?”

“Absolutely!” But then it hits you and your mood falls drastically. “Not sure I’m allowed to, being a newbie and all.” What would be the point of taking your phone and computer away, if you can just go into town and get in touch with the rest of the world there?

Both twins grin, patting yours and each others’ back. “No worries!” is the unison answer.

Maybe-Sean explains: “Standard protocol says you can’t go alone of with only greens but bring at least one seasoned employee of a higher rank and you’re good.”

“Yeah, you can check it in the grey binder.” His brother nearly whispers as if it’s a big secret he’s letting you in on. “So…pick you up in two hours, yeh? We’re gonna grab pizza’s and then beers at Donna’s so nothing wild.”

It’s not the rest Jemma had recommended, nor the recovery Taylor told you to ensure. On the other hand, it’s got to be the exact opposite of what Costa would want, and _that’s_ a brilliant incentive to go and so the decision’s made in a heartbeat.


	7. What happens at Donna's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This might get a bit more...intimate. Some might say NSFW, personally I'd just say keep it away from kids below 13 or 15. You judge.

To say the place is modern or fancy would be an exaggeration. Dried mud trails the most used paths on the wooden floor, adding an outdoorsy scent to the small, dark place with its old neon signs on the walls. Outdated letters spread bend in yellow, green and pink lights inform about cigarettes and drinks and distorts the shadows flitting across the many faces of the numerous customers who somehow have managed to fit into the tight area. Every seat’s in use and a dozen or two guests are standing at the bar, by the wall or around the only ramshackle pool table near the jukebox.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. Sitting in the back of the borrowed military truck on the way down from whatever mountain the facility was hidden in together with a mix of soldiers and MiB and SHIELD agents, you’d been told by the twins about how small the town was. A random assortment of houses and shacks had greeted you when you jumped out onto the gravel parking area by an ATM and a diner. One out of two places to eat out in town.

“[Y/L/N]!” Costa’s voice cuts through the noise like a knife. Even in civilian clothes she’s got an easy time making the way through the crowd to wear your sitting on the edge of the booths seat.

Feeling you stomach tighten, you bite the inside of your cheek before looking up at her in an effort to look calm. _It’s my night off, give me a break!_ Instead you steel yourself for an insult. “Yes, Costa?”

An eerie silence has settled around the table. Each soldier or agent that has come along. Maybe 12 pair of eyes are glued on the two of you, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“The moment I got the order to get ya whipped in shape for this job? _Caralho,_ what was the use? Y’d break in a day. A week, max.” Disdain is oozing from her lips, making your blood boil as you fight to stay calm. “But no…here y’are, getting cozy with my familia, so Imma go ahead and say it…” Nails bite into your palms as the surroundings mute. _Here it comes._ “Girl, y’ve impressed me. I’d like to work with you in the future.”

The knot vanishes, leaving a hollow behind that fills with surprise at the kind words. Someone gives you a shove to help you on your feet and into an awkward hug, Costa’s strong arms wrapping around your shoulders to the cheers of the group of men and women you’re starting to know. The nervous thought that it might be a setup flickers by on fragile wings before it’s blown away on the winds of change.

“But y’owe us a round, amiga.” Costa grins wickedly, perhaps knowing full well that it’s the least of the torments she’s put you through.

…

Several rounds later (not all yours to buy, thankfully) and you’re contemplating the treasures of the jukebox when someone stop behind you a bit too close for comfort. Tugging the coin back in the pocket of your jeans, you turn and sidestep to allow the woman access to the music.

“I haven’t made my mind up, so go ahead.” Finally, you take a proper look at whoever it is.

Long black hair is pull back tightly but let loose to cascade around her shoulders. Dressed in black leather pants and heavy boots the cream tank-top still isn’t needed to balance femininity and raw power oozing from her. You’re ogling, and as your eyes meet hers there’s no doubt you’ve been busted. A crooked smirk and tilted hip is bathed in the blue neon for a moment before she turns to pop in a coin and press the button. The bold notes of a Ram Jam-classic fills the bar, soliciting sporadic cheers before people return to their drinks and friends.

_Good choice._

“Thought so too,” the woman answers with a proud purr, making you aware that you’d spoken out loud.

She’s striking. Glowing with health and a dangerous smile lifting the corner of her mouth. Thin lines, so subtle they barely can be seen in the coloured light, form a geometrical pattern on her forehead and cheekbones, giving her an exotic flair, you can’t quite place. What you can place is the burning sensation in your cheeks and the hectic thumping of the heart against the ribs as she leans closer, bringing the scents of gunpowder, cheap whiskey and vanilla to cocoon you both.

Her voice is barely loud enough to hear over the music. “You’re staring.”

_Crap!_ Thinking fast, the options are few. “Yeah…hard not to when faced with a warrior goddess.” _Cheesy, but fuck it._ Confidence surges and is tempered just as quickly by a strange glimmer of wariness in her eyes but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by a smile.

“I like you,” she states simply, the smile back, “what’s your name?”

“[Y/N],” you answer truthfully, surprised the feel of light fingers on your hips. Automatically you trace the nimble limbs and then the arm until cupping her elbow.

“Hi.” She downs the last dredges of her beer before turning back to you. “Call me Hilde.”

…

You’re not sure why Hilde holds such power over you, leading you confidently through the last hours until a distant shout brings you back to reality. _How did we get here?_ You’d had a drink with her. Then another, but after that you’d stuck to pops because you know what’s waiting for you…and besides: the lady can drink! Still, the events are blurry as if she herself is intoxicating, and now the cold and damp of the wall outside the back of the bar is seeping into your muscles despite the hectic warmth created by hot lips and strong, warm hands. Hilde’s breath is rapid against your clavicle, matching your own as she grinds against your thigh. Her skin is smooth against your palms that have found their way to her hips and back, tugging hungrily at her to get closer, but then you hear your name again and you lean your head against the wall with a defeated groan.

“I gotta go.” Your words are soft against her neck. “I’m sorry. They looking for me so we can drive back.”

“Just let them.”

Strong fingers tug at your bra until you grab her wrist, spinning her around to take your spot with the hands above her head. The movement earns you a sweetly stinging bite to your shoulder that makes you moan. Hilde’s probably able to take you down easily, judging by the smooth planes of hard muscles she’s made off, but she doesn’t. Instead she looks at you with dark eyes from under heavy eyelids. White teeth dig softly into swollen lips in a way that almost manages to distract you. And you do give in, crashing your mouths together in needy desperation for a few long seconds.

“Don’t think I’m finished with you,” you warn half-heartedly, knowing full well that the odds of seeing each other again will be minimal.

Hilde smirks, turning you and slapping your ass to get you going towards the voices of the twins and Costa who’re looking for you. Stepping out of the alley and around the corner, you almost walk straight into them, prompting an urge to smooth your clothes. Sean and Ian immediately surround you, talking about the fun they’ve had this night, but Costa says nothing. She just looks into the alley. Following her gaze, you see the back door close, leaving the spot against the wall empty save for the memories seared against the brick and into your mind.


	8. On aliens

Slipping into bed late at night, you’d been happy to leave the alarm off for once, assuming that you finally will get to sleep in.

Alas.

A hard knocking wakes you and a glance at the clock shows that it’s just a bit past 7AM. The first attempt at ignoring whoever’s on making that awful noise by burying your head under the pillow doesn’t work, and so you sit up with a groan.

“Hang ON!” Your throat is dry, making the words come out as sharp croaks.

Reaching for the water bottle with on hand and rubbing your eye with the root of the other, you curse mornings and morning people. There’s a reason you preferred evening and night shifts. Whoever’s on the other side of the door must have no sense of proper morning etiquette, because there’s a new knock. Not as loud, but just as insistent.

A few steps and you yank the door up, ready to give the offender a talking to. Jay. Impeccable as always in a suit, though the tie has been loosened slightly, the tall man’s leaning against the door frame with crossed ankles.

“Goooood morning, sunshine.” Treating you to the elevator look, he smiles like the cat that ate the canary. “Heard you had some fun last night?”

The short and faded Foo Fighters t-shirt doesn’t cover you as much as you’d want, making your cheeks burn as a knot of discomfort builds in your chest. _Crap. Fuck. Oh, well._ Pretending to not give a damn, you glare up at the man.

“Went out with some of the soldier or whatever. What’s it to you?” You know the words come out too defensively, but it’s morning so you’re not about to apologize.

Jay’s eyebrows do a little dance in amusement. _If he’s a cat, then it’s the Cheshire Cat._ “Heard you had your first encounter too.”

“What business is it of _yours_ who I hook up with?!”

He might have a lot to say in your future here, but some things are beyond he’s limits. Defiant and cross with the constant scrutiny at your every move, it’ll only take a few drops more before you snap…even with the surprisingly kind change in Costa’s behaviour last night.

“That’s not wha–“ apparently catching up with the meaning, Jay smoothly latches on to what was said. “Wait, you got lucky?”

 _Where’s the hole I can hide in._ “What are _you_ talking about?”

“Meeting you first extraterrestrial. You?”

Now, you’re fairly sure that the fuzziness of some of the events wouldn’t be enough to make you forget seeing a real alien but wracking your brain you come up empty. Alright…a few of the customers hadn’t been the pinnacle of human perfection on a lot of levels, but tentacles, green skin or any of the other things depicted in your binder…that would have stood out.

“What?”

…

_28.10.2018._

_I’ve been here a month, waiting for approval and as such clearance to a higher security level before I get to see some of the E.T. patients. This morning agent Jay stopped by. Why? He claimed I met a real alien last night while in town with Thorpes x2, Costa and a bunch of other people. First, I thought he was joking…I mean, come ON! I didn’t drink that much so I KNOW I’d have remembered meeting a Mars-man._

_Well. I didn’t. But apparently an Asgardian woman?_

_Jay let me have a shower and then we went to the mess-hall for breakfast while he explained things starting with the attack on NY years ago. Pointing out that I’d have recognized those monsters, he just told me to shut up. I know about Thor and Loki and how the former likes popping by on a visit. I didn’t know he wasn’t the only one. Nor the first one._

_Fact: Men in Black were established back in the ‘50ies or ‘60ies to keep track and handle visiting extraterrestrials from all over the ~~world~~ ~~uni~~ verses. Most look like something from a cheap sci-fi movie, like the files I’ve had to study hints at…but not all. Which I guess makes sense with Thor and his brother, but somehow it just didn’t register with me that anyone else like them would be here? Also, MiB are pretty good at disguising the visitors that don’t look human, so there’s that._

_Yeah._

_Long story short…I may have made out with an Asgardian warrior-supreme last night. A Valkyrie…named Brunhilde. Forget Wagner and big, blond women with horned helmets (which I know Vikings didn’t have anyways). Apparently Asgard is culturally diverse. Or was. The reason a lot of Asgardians are here is because Thor blew up their home to kill a big demon or something and they’ve sought refuge on Earth while looking for a better place? There’s a lot of the back story that I haven’t gotten yet._

_Note to self: figure out what ~~THE FUCK~~ is GOING ON! _

_In other news. Both Jay and Jemma have handed in their assessments. Both positive, according to Jay. I should hear tomorrow what the verdict is._

_I wonder how many other people aren’t actually people? Second note to self: don’t take anything or anyone for granted. Things are not as they seem. And where does Hilde stay?_

…

Smacking the notebook shut, you stuff it away in one of the drawers before heading off towards the gym. Sure, it might be your day off, but with all the new information there’s no way you can sit still and study and with few other options available the choice lands on training.

You’re starting to formulate the theory that the gym is one of the places that never really is deserted. There’s always someone keeping up with the apparently very high standards for physical prowess, meaning you’re not really alone which until now hasn’t been much of an issue. That’s changed since Jay’s let you in on the big secret that there are aliens walking around in public and no civilian bloody knows. Now you suspect everyone you see of being from some far-off planet, and your nerves are sticking to you’re your shirt (thoroughly mixed with the sweat) as your feet carry you absolutely no further from the frustrating limbo of uncertainty.

The good thing is you break your own record for both pace and distance.

Bad thing is that the physical exhaustion leaves you feeling vulnerable as you step off the treadmill and begin to stretch.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Says a gentle voice right behind you.

Turning with a shriek, you automatically lash out like Taylor has taught you…except not as strongly and your fist is caught in an iron grip. Looking along your arms you find the very same man’s face grinning apologetically at you. Pulling your hand back and with burning cheeks (more than from the work out) you try to stammer out an apology.

“Chill. It’s okay.” The green flecks in his eyes are blocked as he looks away. “I know I can walk quietly.”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you, enhanced rather than muffled by the sounds of other people tending their own work-out regimen to the ambient music typical of any fitness center.

“Still uhm still on for tomorrow?” _Anything to break the silence!_

The soldier nods. “You better take it easy now…bringing in an extra to help with the training.” And without further explanation he sends you a tiny salute and stalks off, silent as usual.

 _What?_ If he’s asked Costa or maybe even one of the twins, he wouldn’t bother tell you. Maybe. Or maybe he would? More questions and worries are added to your already spinning mind, making it seem impossible to find out which thoughts are even reasonable anymore. Instead of attempting anything else, you breathe out a groan, knowing that there’s only one possible cure left: a steamy hot shower followed by sleep.


	9. Hand-to-hand 101

At least this morning hasn’t had any weird revelations. The most you can complain about is a soreness in you limbs from maybe having overdone the training the days before, but now that you’re warmed up it’s a lot better. Plopped onto the mat with your legs stretched before you, you’re attempting to reach the tip of the shoes. _Soooo close._ Just not close enough.

“Breathe into it.” Taylor’s busy with his own preparations, extending effortlessly into impossible positions. “Hold it, breathe in and out slowly, and follow your body with each breath.”

Grimacing is the only answer you grant him as you attempt to follow his advice. _Is he alien too?_ It would explain how he can be so unnaturally flexible. Or maybe he’s some sort of superhero, made of rubber or a metal alloy that turns solid on impact. Yeah, that would almost make sense…if you hadn’t examined him yourself at the required physical. Glancing over, you watch as he moves with grueling pace through the “mountain climber” – an exercise Costa has presented you to as well.

He doesn’t break the pace as he beams in your direction. “See, there you go!”

Rugged rubber and leather brushes against the pads of your fingertips as a reward for the burning strain running the length of the back of your legs. Following the plea from your muscles, you collapse backwards onto the mat with a proud smile. _Costa thought I’d wash out, ha!_ You’d proven her wrong…and learned more about yourself than expected. Half-dazed, you blink at the shadow suddenly emerging above you.

“We meet again.”

The perfect smile created by flawless lips and a nose scrunch that would make Aphrodite jealous is hovering above your face. And there they are: eyes like the night, filled with unspoken promises of activities fit for those dark hours.

“Hilde!” Springing to your feet, you try to combat the heat running to your head as memories return.

…

Taylor had invited the woman, the Asgardian, to participate in the training, his reasoning being that the fighting style of a woman would differ greatly from that of a man. You wanted to ask why it couldn’t have been Costa instead (or just _any_ of the other females on base)…but you didn’t because truth be told, you didn’t completely mind the close proximity required to Hilde as the sparring began.

She looked bored mostly, as if she’d expected more from…you? The situation? It was mostly when she and Taylor demonstrated the various moves for you that her facial expression became distant. Each time you faced her, a slight twinge at the corner of her mouth would light up her eyes or make a brow arch as if she enjoyed some hidden secret. Perhaps that she was holding back, although that seemed rather obvious because Hilde slowly would pick up the pace as you got more familiar with the moves, forcing you to do the same or get beaten – something you weren’t all to keen on.

Now you’re managing to keep control of your mind and its shenanigans for quite a while, putting forth a valiant effort with each defensive and offensive maneuver. In fact, you’re feeling so proud of yourself that you dare to improvise a sweep with you leg that sends the Asgardian warrior flat on her back while your exhilaration surges.

“HAH-umph!”

Triumph is replaced with a different view to the room and Hilde who somehow now is straddling you, pinning your arms above your head and your bodies flush against each other. There’s a dangerous smile playing on her lips, and though it doesn’t scare you, it still manages perfectly to point out just how much power she has over the situation.

Hilde might be a mind reader. “Seems familiar, doesn’t it?” she whispers sweetly into you ear.

There’s no way to deny it. Through the fog clouding your brain, you scramble for an idea, anything to regain the upper hand.

Hips roll gently as you carefully reposition your legs. You’ll have to move quickly. Right leg flattens across her calf just as you push off with the other leg, thrusting pelvis up and sideways to knock the woman off-balance. The rolling motion drags you along, nestling you between her legs before you manage to wrench your wrists free and push backwards onto you knees. Like a magnet, she follows, pinning you down once more, ready to –

“Enough, ladies.” Taylor’s voice is a welcome saving chime from a bell.

To your amazement, Hilde complies smoothly, face calm and unreadable as stone even as she regains control over her breathing. In comparison, you’re flushed and out of breath as you climb to your feet biting in a wince as your knees has to carry your weight again. _Neat and elegant – like an elephant,_ your inner voice mocks.

“[Y/N], what was that?” Taylor demands.

Either you apologize, making a fool out of yourself in the process…or you stick to the truth, idiotic but without regrets. “I saw an opportunity and took it, sir.” There’s almost no waver in your voice. Almost.

“Why?”

“I’d have to catch her by surprise, unless I’d be willing to accept defeat.” Even without looking at the Asgardian, it’s obvious that she’s arching her brow at the answer. “She’s stronger, faster than me. I’d never win the way we were going.”

You watch carefully as the normally stoic man pinches the bridge of his nose, face partially hidden by the hand as if it could block the view to the tiny smile twitching his lips. It was wrong of you to go beyond the exercises Taylor had given you to work through because stuff like this could easily turn ugly. Hell, you’d seen plenty examples with adolescent guys ending up at the ER due to their pride-fueled stupidity. Next to you, Brunhilde is absolutely no help as she’s wiggling her eyebrows dramatically before walking off to hit the nearest sandbag.

“I should…fuck…” Taylor mutters the last word to himself as his face splits in the first real smile you’ve seen from him. _Hot damn, not fair._ “Right. Okay. Good things about what you did…taking initiative and using every opening.” Off to the side, Hilde sends the sandbag rattling in the chain. “You even…it wasn’t…” each attempt at completing a sentence is marked by a heavy thump of fist against faux leather, “it was a well-executed maneuver, I’ll admit that. Not perfect, but for a first timer it was pretty damn good. Now!”

The exclamation wipes the smile that’s been growing on your face away, but soon it’s the gruelling cycle with burpees, push-ups, crunches, and other inventions from hell that has your face contorted with furious exhaustion.

By the time Taylor ends the training session, leaving you flat on your back on the blue sparring mat, it’s unclear if your legs will be able to bring you just out of the gym. _Someone have stolen my lungs._ At least whoever it is has been kind to leave you something in return…too bad it’s lead and as such absolutely no use for oxygenizing your blood and bringing a semblance of life to the shaking limbs. As you lie there under the fluorescent lights, eyes half-closed for fear they’ll pop out, a shadow falls over you.

“Hey, sprout.” _Costa._ “Conference room at 7AM sharp. Sublevel 4, room 208.”

She barely waits for the croaked sound of acceptance.


	10. A room full of people

Staring at the grey door, you aren’t sure what will meet you on the other side. You have an idea of what this is all about, of course: evaluation. Coming to this place, learning what it’s all about while constantly under the scrutiny of Jemma, Jay, and goodness knows who else…well, time has gone by quicker than you’d realized. When you pass through that door, you’ll have to accept the verdict whatever it may be…and it’s making you feel nauseous. The knock on the door is surprisingly firm, and it’s only because you saw your shaking fist connect with the sheer surface that you know it’s your doing. _I’m really doing this?_ The metal of the door handle is cool against your sweaty palm. _Fuck it, I’m doing it._ Next second you’re opening the door with your head held high and a kind, but professional, smile on your face.

A singular chair is placed within a semicircle made of a table. Along one side of this crescent piece of metallic furniture are nine people seated, and though some are familiar to you (there’s even a few of them that smiles in greeting, the general mood seems to be serious if not downright broody.

“Have a seat.” The tone the middle-aged man uses is curt.

Doing as you’re told, you take the opportunity to look people over as you move to the indicated position in the middle of it all. Costa and Taylor are seated to the left, followed immediately by agent Jay. Then comes the man that has spoken. _Gotta be Men in Black too._ The sharp suit and matching tie are impeccable, and although the man isn’t exactly the example of perfect physical health, it’s clear that he’s not one to mess with. Neither are the next two men though. One’s slender with neatly defined cheek bones and blue-grey eyes noticing every little detail; his neighbour is both broad and tall (all dressed in black) as he lazies in the chair…but it’s the slight edges of scarring leading under an eye-patch that keeps you wondering what exactly his job description can be. Then there’s a red-haired woman eyeing you in between studying some documents before you finally spot Jemma (who looks oddly uncomfortable) and Hilde (which honestly surprises you). There’s one more chair at the very end of the table as if they’re expecting someone else to participate in what is beginning to look like a jury. _I’m so not ready for this!_

“Miss [Y/L/N], how are you?” The same man asks, suddenly jovially.

“Fine, thank you,” you lie, “even if I’m surprised at how many are here.”

“Ah, yes, it can seem a bit…overwhelming, I suppose.” You notice the sight nod from Jemma and the perfectly executed eyeroll Hilde makes. “And we’re still one short, I’m afraid. But perhaps we can begin with introducing ourselves?”

The last bit is mainly to the others, it seems, because the dark guy with the patch finally moves to lean forward, elbows resting on the table and fingertips steepled. “Name’s Fury, and I’m not strictly speaking here,” his flinty voice states, “consider me a mediator between these two organizations. I’m neutral ground.”

There’s something about the name that rings a bell. _Maybe he used to be something with politics?_ The American accent and the type of role smells a bit of bureaucracy and government offices, maybe former military. It’s only when the slender man introduces himself as Phil Coulson, the director of SHIELD, that the penny drops. Two generations of super-serious hero-business and supposedly covert operations and the former handlers of the Aveng– _wait a minute!_ Shifting a glance to the red-head, your suspicion is confirmed a moment later by the woman herself. Natasha Romanoff (or, as you’ve once read in the newspaper: Natalia Romanova). Former spy and assassin, now the idol of many girls and women because she’s helped save the day more than once. And she’s cool.  
Going the other way, the man that had first spoken introduces himself as “Alpha”, which has got to be the most uninventive codename of the century. _Alpha…”A”…it’s not Jay, it’s “J”…doh._ But creative or not, the guy has a lot of power and his opinion ways heavy in regards to what’s going to happen with you.

Alpha looks at his watch and then over at Hilde, silently asking her something but the only answer’s a shrug. “Well…” he sighs, “might as well begin, we don’t know how long it’ll be bef–“

The director of MiB is interrupted by the door bursting open so hard it ricochets back off the wall and closes again leaving the room dead silent. On the second attempt it stays open to let Mr. Smith in, looking absolutely livid.

“She’s not her!” An accusatory finger is pointing at you, trembling with each heaving breath. _He must’ve run._

“I’m not?”

“She’s not?” several other voices echo.


	11. Jury and Judge

Everyone is listening intently to Smith’s explanation. Everyone but you. A few sentences in and your mind’s sort of slipped out of you as if your watching everything from outside. _I’m slouching,_ you notice and immediately see your body comply by straightening up. _I should listen._ But you don’t because the details don’t matter as long as the fact remains that you were never meant to be here…and honestly it makes sense. You’d sent out a lot of applications because you needed a change in your work-life, but you’d not applied for anything outside of the country (as far as you could remember) which is why you’d been too curious to ignore them when they’d contacted you. And yes, it had been a clerical error (something about the servers resetting and search criteria), but now that you’ve gotten this far… _fuck._ Jemma, Jay, Taylor, and even Costa look pretty bummed about the conclusion that they’ve undoubtedly reached too.

“I get it, don’t rub it in!” The words plop out of your mouth, startling you as much as Smith whom you’re glaring at angrily. Back in yourself, you realize that you might as well continue now _._ “Something went wrong and now you’re here to fix the mistake by making sure they…the…this panel will terminate the trial period. I’m supposed to leave and never say anything about this, right?”

The sallow man glares back, eyes seemingly alive for the first time as he sneers. “Your applications has neither been vetted properly nor has it been passed through the appropriate channels! Therefore, you do _not_ qualify for employment by any of the prestigious organisations!”

“Smith.” Fury’s calm, but no one in their right mind would argue with him. “You’ve made your point, you can go.”

You watch him turn on his heel and stalk out the still open door, nearly colliding with the person who’s leaning against the door frame. _Fuck me sideways!_ This person you’d recognize anywhere and not necessarily with joy even though he supposedly has been exonerated. _Coerced, my ass!_ But then an inkling of guilt pops into your heart, because how can anyone, even Loki of Asgard, withstand torture and mind control? _Damn,_ the world used to be simpler. No aliens, no space-bugs that will turn you pink and grow extra limbs before you suffocate, and no feeling that you’ll miss out on something important unless you’re right here where it’s all happening.

 _I won’t let them kick me out!_ “All right, I get it.” You turn back to the row of people in charge of your future, ignoring Loki as he walks by you to take the last empty place. “So as things are now, technically I’ve not applied correctly for this job…you did headhunt me, though.” The comment makes Natasha and Fury smirk. “Also…I’ve seen some of what’s going on and I’ve made it through Costa’s torture, no offense –“

“None taken,” Costa smiles sweetly…sweet enough to seem like a silent promise of more painstakingly hard training.

“So really…what I’m trying to say is that it won’t make sense to kick me out. Let me apply correctly and pick up from where I’ve gotten to instead.” You _know_ you’re right!

“It’s certainly an interesting idea,” Coulson’s the first to admit, “but what do you suppose we do with you in the meantime?”

“S-sir?”

The man rubs his receding hairline for a moment before continuing. “Without a binding contract, we’ll have no way to guarantee your safety or a salary for that matter. Also…we would be running a risk of letting you leave with this knowledge intact…we simply can’t have people out there knowing everything that’s going on yet.”

The director for MiB takes over at that moment, holding out his hands in an all-encompassing, apologetic manner. “We have ways of helping people…forget certain incidents. Normally it’d be a matter of minutes or maybe hours that we have to free their memory of, but you’ve been here much, much longer than that. We can’t just supress it without risking…erm…other things. Besides, anything we do wipe, well it can’t be reversed. What you’ve learned will be gone for good, you’d have to start over.”

“You…what?!” _Is he kidding?_ “You don’t have to…to wipe my memories, what the hell? Just…you can keep mere here, that way you know I’m not telling on you. I could still help out as a normal nurse, maybe get some experience or theoretical knowledge.”

“We can’t grant you a clearance level if you don’t have a contract and you can’t get a contract without a proper application and so on.” There’s a strain in Coulson’s voice. _Is he annoyed or frustrated? By me?_ “So you see…there’s no way we can accommodate you here.”

Fury’s head is tilted as he takes in how the defeat washes over you. “It was a good alternative, [Y/L/N], it really was. But no _organisation_ can legally take you in at this moment.”

“So…you’ll risk you mind because of an error on your side?” It’s a low blow, and you know it, but the faint traces of guilt on their faces makes you feel a bit better.

Alpha has the decency to look proper sorry. “It won’t be –“

“The mortal could stay under my guardianship until the…application has been processed.”

It’s the first time you hear Loki speak, and his voice is much softer than you’d ever imagined. Bored, yeah, but still velvety. It’s not just you looking at him in surprise. Every single person in the room is staring at the black-haired man as if they’re trying to find out if he’s real or perhaps just an illusion. Hilde even pinches him, earning an annoyed swat by his hand…and the sharp sound of the slap sounds very real.

“You?” Taylor has already recovered, his normally serene expression replaced by a nearly electrifying focus. “You’d take care of someone else? A human?”

“Why not?” A wolfish grin is spreading across Loki’s face. “It is a condition for my pardoning that I interact with and help Midgardians more. What better opportunity than this? Not only can I prove my good intentions, we could perhaps even…learn from each other.” The green eyes sweep over Fury, Coulson, and Natasha before returning to you. “I’m not tied to any Midgardian organisation or group such as these people. If you agree to come with me, I can guarantee that your memories will not be destroyed, you will have the chance to see worlds beyond this one…when you come back you will be more than ready for any menial task, they could have for you here.”

The only sound in the room after Loki’s near-soliloquy is the electrical buzzing from the light above and the faint whirr of the ventilation system. You expect someone to contradict him…but no one does. Instead they all watch you intensely and wait. _They wait for an answer._ The plastic seat of the chair feels much too warm and sticky even through the seat of your jeans, your heart is actively trying to crawl out you throat together with the bit of breakfast you’d managed to swallow. _I need to say something._ Managing and intake of breath, you still end open sitting open-mouthed without a clue of what the right course of action is and suddenly it all seems overwhelming. Confusing.

“So…I have three options? That’s what you’re all saying now?” You can hear how meek you sound, and you instantly hate yourself for it.

Fury doesn’t seem to notice. “Yes. One…you forget all of this and go back to your old life, continue living that.” He’s holding up a finger for you to count along. “Two,” now there’s one more finger, “you apply properly for the position as nurse of either the H.I. or the E.T.I., but while the application is pending, you’ll still be rendered unable to recall any of this.” The serious man sends an accusatory side-glace at Alpha who decides to ignore it. “And finally, three, you take Loki up on his offer, accepting that we take no responsibility in the…consequences.”

 _I can’t miss what I can’t remember._ The safe choice would be to follow either the first or second plan. “When do we leave, Loki?”


End file.
